Betrayed
by SantittanyForever
Summary: One-shot depicting Santana's reaction to hearing about Brittany and Sam dating.


You tell yourself you don't care. When you first get that phone call from Tina, telling you all about Sam and your girl, you try to brush it off. You quirk your eyebrow in the manner you've become accustomed to, straighten your back, and purse your lips, breathing deeply. You repeat a mantra to yourself, over and over again:

'_I don't care. I don't care. I don't care.'_

You tell yourself that it's okay, that you knew this was going to happen eventually. You were the one who ended things with her. You saw this coming.

But no matter how many times you repeat it, how much you try to convince yourself, you know it's not true. You do care. As much as it pains you to admit it, you care. You care an awful lot.

And you know you were the one who told Brittany that it was okay for her to date other people, but Sam, of all the people she could've chosen to date? To you, that's just plain insulting. First of all, he dated Quinn. Then, he dated you, and to top it all off now he wants Britt? _Your_ girl?

You just can't believe he has the audacity to do this. You know that Sam Evans never was the brightest fish in the bowl, but you thought he would have a little more decency and common sense. Then again, this is the same guy who thought imitating a teen pop idol was going to win back his girlfriend, so you can't say you're all that surprised at his new level of idiocy.

You smirk as you roll your eyes, ridiculing Sam in your mind. But then, your mind betrays you in the most awful way. It reminds you that while you're here, thinking of a million insults, he's there, with _here. _And before you can stop yourself, you're imagining them together, laughing, talking, his hands wandering clumsily over Brittany's beautiful body, his lips touching hers. The thought makes you sick to your stomach. You bristle, trying to steady your heart, which is thumping furiously against your ribcage, like a feral animal attempting to crash though the cage in which it is confined. Your jealousy and rage consumes you entirely, eating you alive, not leaving a single part of you untouched.

She's yours. She's always been yours. She said it herself, all that time ago, by your lockers.

You choke back a strangled sob as the vividly painful memory seeps forward from your subconscious, remembering that particular conversation all too clearly. The way you opened up to her, spilled your deepest feelings for her regardless of how terrified you felt; and the way she simply turned you down for some boy, crushing your hopes so easily. Any walls that you had let down for her were built right back up again, even stronger than they were before, not allowing anyone to see past the impenetrable, intimidating façade you had perfected so effortlessly over the years.

After that though, when you finally became a couple, you thought things would be alright. You had Brittany, you had your friends from the Glee club supporting you both, and you were happy together. You loved her with every fibre of your being, and you couldn't imagine life without her. Without her quirky comments, her infectious laugh, her comforting embrace, her enthralling crystal blue eyes, and her gorgeous, heart-stopping smile.

But now, you have none of that. None.

All because no one paid her enough attention to help her graduate, at the time when she most needed people to be there for her. You feel the anger bubbling up within you, anger at your peers for not noticing Brittany's struggle, angry at your teachers for not trying to help her more. But mostly, you're angry at yourself. You're angry for not being there for her more, you're angry for not appreciating her as much as you should have, and most of all, you're angry for letting her go, for allowing her to fall into the waiting arms of Sam, of all people, who you know for a fact will never care about Brittany the way you do.

You haven't even realised that you've been pacing your apartment for the past ten minutes, so wrapped up in your own morose thoughts. You pause by your desk, gazing at the framed picture that adorns the middle shelf. It's you and Brittany, sitting in the choir room in your Cheerio's uniforms, around the time when you first joined the Glee club. Your arms are wrapped tightly around each other, and you have the biggest smiles on your faces.

This is what pushes you over the edge.

You feel a scream building inside you, clawing its way up your throat, which is already hoarse from all of the crying you've been unable to stop since you received that phone call. It begins low, guttural, gradually building to a crescendo, emerging from you like the wail of a banshee. It feels good. Your eyes dart around your dorm room, your chest rising and falling with each sharp breath that ghosts across your lips. You close your eyes, trying to find peace amongst the chaos happening in your mind. But it's nowhere to be found. You then feel yourself begin to shake, as all of your emotions crash over you, a suffocating wave that you cannot escape.

You turn slowly, walking a few steps forward until your head is resting against the wall. You bring your hands up, clenching your trembling fists.

It's then that you lift your fist and bring it crashing down on the wall, letting out a gasp as a sharp pain shoots through your hand. You raise your hand slowly, shivering, as you stare at the rapidly reddening knuckles, mesmerised by their almost sardonic beauty.

"It's ironic that something so painful can be so beautiful." You mutter to yourself, smiling wryly as you remember Miss Holiday telling you those exact words after you went to her and explained how Brittany had dismissed your admission of love for her.

You then realise how, for that brief moment, you were so enveloped in the pain that you couldn't feel the unrelenting tendrils that had been tightening mercilessly around your bruised heart.

You tilt your head and stare at the wall for a second longer, before smashing your throbbing fist against it once more. And then you can't stop.

You rain down blow after blow, one fist after another, clawing and scratching until your nails are jagged and raw. Small sounds escape you, little cries of pain mingled with gasps of exultation.

Eventually you can fight no more, so you turn and sink down against the wall, leaning against the thing you so willingly abused mere seconds ago.

You smile at the beautiful irony of the situation; it almost reminds you of Brittany all those months, even years ago. Of how she didn't even realise how much those few words of dismissal hurt you, that blunt refusal to accept your love, but then how she so easily sought you out when she needed solace, someone to comfort her after her relationship with Artie came to an abrupt end. And yet, even after it felt as though your heart had been ripped from your chest, you continued to love her. And your love for her only grew as she began patching up your battered heart, piece by piece, repairing the damage she had unknowingly inflicted. Even now, hunched over in your room, cradling your bruised and bleeding hands, you love her. And you don't think you'll ever stop loving her. After all, she's your soul mate. And you refuse to let her go.


End file.
